


What Colour Are Yours?

by ourillustriousbrotherhood



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1350838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourillustriousbrotherhood/pseuds/ourillustriousbrotherhood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Light-hearted nonsense, set early in S.10, while Harry is still on suspension.  Grid members have a discussion about what colour underwear men wear, and someone asks Ruth about Harry's underwear ......... as if she'd know!<br/>A companion piece to "Night Nurse".</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Colour Are Yours?

"So, Harry …... what colour are yours?"

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Ruth wanted them back. She noticed Harry's Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed quickly.

"Ruth …... you've just asked me what colour underwear I'm wearing."

"Yes …. well …... I hadn't meant to say the words aloud." She put her wine glass on the coffee table, and quickly left the room, mumbling something about needing to tidy the kitchen.

"You don't have to clean up, Ruth. It's my house." Harry watched her back as she disappeared from the room, but he was grateful for some solitude in which to gather himself, and contemplate the question, and the discussion which had led to it.

In the kitchen, Ruth made as much noise as she could, hoping she sounded industrious. As she'd already done on several other occasions since Harry had been suspended, she'd prepared, and then taken him a home-cooked meal – that night it was apricot chicken with rice – and Harry had opened two bottles of wine, which they'd both enjoyed with gusto. Harry has a dishwasher, but she'd never trusted them to not break down, so she ran hot water in the sink, and opened cupboards until she found some dish-washing detergent.

While her hands were occupied, she had a few minutes to herself to figure out exactly what had gone wrong.

When there was no immediate operation either in progress or pending, Friday afternoon on the Grid could be a long few hours, with most of the staff only waiting until home time so that they could go to the pub. She couldn't remember who it was had brought up the subject of underwear, although she remembered that Erin had made a comment about how rubbish men are at choosing decent underwear for themselves.

"Rosie's father only ever wore white trunks, and even when I'd buy him trunks in other colours, he'd never wear them."

"What's wrong with white?" Calum had asked, while Tariq rolled his eyes.

"Only really old guys wear white shorts," Tariq added. "I'll bet Harry's shorts are white."

And that was when Ruth had stopped sniggering over in the girls' corner, because suddenly, all eyes were on her.

"What?" she asked, feeling her face beginning to redden.

"If anyone here knows the colour of Harry's underwear, it would have to be you," said Calum, bold as brass.

Ruth had looked at the others, and all - other than Calum – were busily looking anywhere but at her.

"For your information," Ruth said, hopefully with dignity, "I have never seen Harry's underwear."

"Pull the other one," Dimitri said, just loud enough for Erin to hear him, which she followed up by thumping his arm with her fist.

"If Ruth says she hasn't, then she hasn't. So, what colour are your trunks, Dimitri?"

Dimitri had dropped his eyes, and was fiddling with the waistband of his trousers.

"If you drop your pants, sunshine, you're on your own," said Calum.

"I can't remember," Dimitri said, on the verge of laughter. He'd pulled down his trousers just a little way until they all caught a flash of red.

"Red is the colour of passion, Dimitri," Ruth said, somewhat emboldened by the attention being on someone other than her.

"Yeah ….. well, I'm a passionate guy."

"Mine are green," Tariq said, although no-one expressed any interest. "Lime green," he added.

"I think Harry would wear black shorts," Ruth said, gazing into the distance.

"We all want to know, but I refuse to follow him into the mens' loos, just to find out the colour of his trunks."

"I bet I can find out, Calum," Ruth added, "and without getting him into a compromising position, or sneaking into the mens loos."

"You're no fun at all," Calum replied.

"I'd quite like to keep my job," Ruth had added, "and to do that, I'll have to use my spook skills."

And so it was that after they'd finished dinner, and had opened a third bottle of wine, Ruth had shared with Harry the discussion which had taken place on the Grid that afternoon, and then she had sprung the question about the colour of his underwear. As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she'd posed the question too soon. At least, she should have waited until they'd finished the third bottle of wine, and perhaps even a fourth, although after that much wine, Ruth doubted she'd be able to wind her tongue around the words `underwear' or 'trunks'. Had she been totally sober, Ruth would have been sharp enough to ease the conversation slowly around to Harry, and his underwear colour preferences, and perhaps he may have offered the information himself. As it was, he'd probably never ever tell her.

Ruth took a long time over the dishes, so long that Harry came looking for her.

"You're hiding from me, Ruth," he said, leaning against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest.

"I thought you might like some space," she said, turning back to the sink, from where she'd been staring out the window into the dark.

"Do you really want to know the colour of my underwear?"

"I'm sure I won't lose any sleep if I don't know, Harry, but …... I am curious."

Ruth had only just finished pulling off the marigolds she had found in the cupboard with the detergent, when she felt him standing next to her. Harry stood so close to her that she could feel the body heat radiating from him, so that the hairs on the back of her hands and neck stood to attention.

"I have an idea." Harry's voice was low and husky, and as he spoke, he leaned closer to Ruth so that his arm brushed her shoulder.

She looked up at him and smiled. His pupils were dilated in the dim light of the kitchen, giving him an appearance of passion that bordered on being dangerous. Ruth also recognised that all the wine she had drunk earlier had tipped her imagination into overdrive. "What's your idea?" she asked.

"Pretend that you've seen my underwear -"

"How will I explain that?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something, Ruth."

Again she looked up at him, and was surprised to see a serious expression on his face. So, perhaps he wasn't taking the piss after all.

"Feel free to come up with a colour," he continued, as he looked through the window, squinting slightly. "Something outrageous, something unlikely. Tell them my trunks are purple."

"Are they?"

"What do you think, Ruth?"

"I think it's more likely they are paisley than purple."

Harry threw his head back in a hearty laugh. Ruth smiled up at him. She loved Harry's laugh. She could listen to him laughing for a very long time.

"How do you know they're not purple paisley?" Now he was teasing her.

"I have my own idea about what colour underwear you wear."

They stood side by side at the sink, and together stared out the window, where they could just make out the shrubs in Harry's back garden swaying in the wind, the rain which had fallen only minutes earlier leaving the leaves glistening, as they intermittently caught the glow from the streetlight two doors down.

"Are you planning to tell me tonight, Ruth? Or will you text me your answer in the morning?"

"I think you wear black. Black trunks."

"Hmm."

"Am I right?"

"You're a third the way there."

"Meaning?"

"Whenever I buy new trunks, I always buy four pairs of black, four of grey, and four white."

Ruth was pleased, while at the same time, disappointed. "Why so many?"

"You can never have too many pairs of shorts."

"Tariq says only old men wear white."

"Since when has Tariq been an expert on clothing of any kind?"

Ruth left the question unanswered. She simply didn't know. She felt Harry move beside her, and then his lips gently touched her cheek. She was not shocked, as perhaps she would have were this to have happened only a few months ago. She turned her head towards him, and he placed his lips gently on hers, while his hand rested on her back …... a soft, sweet kiss, which was over far too soon.

"Perhaps you should call me a taxi, Harry."

"Perhaps I should," and he smiled down at her, a glint in his eyes.

oOo

Ruth spent a busy weekend, firstly doing her grocery shopping, and then some cleaning, washing, and last of all – on Sunday afternoon – she went online. Online shopping was so much more fun than crashing her way around Tesco's, man-handling a trolley which possessed a measurable level of sentience …... (and to her reckoning, was hell bent on taking out the whole of the bottled sauce aisle.)

By Wednesday morning things had settled down at work, after the Russian delegation had been settled into a hotel, and meetings organised between the British diplomats and Ilya Gavrik. It was going to be a trying few weeks, and Harry's hearing hadn't yet been scheduled.

Ruth was alone in the tea room when she heard her message tone. She pulled her phone from the pocket of her skirt, and read the message while the kettle boiled. What she read put a smile on her face.

`Thank you for your gift. Do you expect me to wear these?'

She replied …...

`Of course, and I also require proof of you wearing them.'

She had pressed `Send' before she had time to think about the wisdom of her message. It was a provocative message, and she then wished she'd given herself time to rearrange her words so as to offend no-one. It was clear that Harry wanted a relationship with her, but she needed to feel comfortable about the pace at which whatever it was between them unfolded.

Only a couple of minutes later, he replied.

`It's a deal x'

Oh …... dear.

On her way back to her desk with her mug of hot tea, Ruth was ambushed by Dimitri, Calum and Tariq, with Erin having left for a meeting with the Home Secretary. Briefly, Ruth hoped Erin was up to the task. After all, she was not a patch on Harry.

"So," said Calum, a smile on his face, "how's Harry bearing up?"

"I don't know what you mean."

She felt a look pass between the three men.

"We know you're seeing him on the sly."

"It's hardly on the sly, Calum. I take him food …... every few days."

"Did you ask him about his shorts?" Ruth could hear the laughter in Dimitri's voice.

"I'll bet he wears white ones," Tariq offered.

"How much are you prepared to put on that, Tariq?" This from Dimitri.

Ruth's phone was back in the pocket of her skirt, and again she heard the message tone. Dare she read it? Why not? It was bound to be relevant to this conversation.

"Wait while I read this," she replied.

She opened the message. It was a picture message. She held her breath while she opened it, and enlarged it to fill her phone's screen. There was quite a lot of purple in the picture. Ruth squinted, her eyes not truly believing what she was seeing. When she had figured it out, she saw one of (what she could only assume was) Harry's buttocks, covered in purple fabric, with a little bit of the skin at his waist, and the top of the back of his thigh. Behind him, she could make out the edge of his bed. Harry had donned his gift from her, and had taken a selfie of one purple-covered butt cheek! Part of her was disappointed that he hadn't photographed himself from the front. What was she thinking? They were not yet that familiar with one another.

Ruth closed her phone, and smiled to herself, before she looked up at the three faces awaiting her reply.

"It's official," she said quietly. "Harry's trunks are purple."

And for once, Calum, Dimitri and Tariq were speechless.

On her way back to her desk, her message tone again sounded.

`How about a private viewing of the whole garment. Tonight?'

Insufferable man. Once she was seated, and her mug of tea on her desk in front of her, she messaged back.

`So long as you cook dinner.'

When her message tone sounded again, she smiled.

oOo

Next morning, early:

Ruth awoke feeling disoriented. The window, through which barely any early morning pre-dawn light could penetrate, was definitely in the wrong place, as well as on the wrong wall. And some time during the night, a wooden beam had fallen on her, and she had no recollection of that having happened. Earthquakes in London? She couldn't remember the last one.

Then she heard it. It was a very gentle snoring, not the there's-a-train-trying-to-burst-through-the-bedroom kind of snoring. Just a regular light puff of air very close to her left ear, so that the beam lying across her moved gently in time with the snoring.

Oh, God. It's happened at last, hasn't it?

Ruth very slowly opened her eyes to see Harry's sleeping face close to her own, and that the `wooden beam' was his arm, slung across her during sleep, pinning her to the mattress.

How did this even happen?

Then she saw them – a small item of Harry's clothing, purple in colour – discarded between the doorway and the bed. She remembered pulling them off him in her hurry to …...

Well, there's no need to go there, is there?

Ruth again closed her eyes, and sank down into the mattress, enjoying how good she felt, despite the dead weight of Harry's arm across her waist. Regardless of how cool and fresh her naked body felt against the sheets, she could barely wait to get home after work, so keen was she to be doing further online shopping. Who knew that shopping for men's underwear could be such fun?

Fin


End file.
